Only She Matters
by Anon24
Summary: Several years after the current conflict, Christopher Pelant is back and badder than ever. Kidnapping Christine breaks the hold on the Jeffersonian, and the team begins to realize what matters most.
1. Chapter 1

The couple was caressed in each other's arms, protectively clinging to each other in the midst of slumber. Their bodies rested on one another and their hands involuntary clung together. It was a peaceful scene, undisturbed and serene.

The alarm on the bedside clock buzzed off loudly. Sheets crumpled beneath the bodies and wrinkled shed through the movement. The man rolled over to tell his partner hello.

"Good morning, Bones," he said dreamily.

"Hi, Booth," she responded, her eyes still closed.

"We gotta get up," he persuaded her.

She moaned in protest and rolled over so that her back was facing him. He rubbed her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "C'mon, we have work."

Brennan mumbled and Booth silently smiled to himself. He gave her one last kiss on the cheek before he got up to get ready. Soon enough, Brennan could hear the raining echoes of the shower nearby. She got out of bed and rubbed her eyes. She was more and more exhausted as of late, and all she wanted was a break from her busy professional life.

Brennan quietly got dressed and prepared herself for the upcoming day as Booth took his shower. As soon as she heard the faucet turn off, she left their bedroom and turned into the adjacent one. She stepped in her daughter's room, which had been carefully painted the week before. Their daughter had grown out of a sunshine, yellow stage into a captive, blue one. Brennan walked to her daughter's bed and rubbed her back much like Booth had done several minutes before.

"Hey, Christine, you gotta get up, sweetie. We have to get you ready for school."

The girl's blue eyes shuttered open. They flickered and captured the innocent excitement of a six year old. "Okay!" she exclaimed and jumped right out of bed, much unlike her hesitant mother. She skipped over to her dresser and picked out an old hockey T shirt and leggings to wear.

"Why don't you wear something nice today?" Brennan asked, not pleased with her decision.

"Cause the Flyers play tonight!" Christine protested. "Daddy and I are gonna watch them after school!"

Brennan shook her head warily but concurred with her daughter. Booth had converted Christine to the unrecognized religion of professional sports, and she wasn't quite excited to learn that their little girl would rather watch grown men trip on ice than read a book.

Brennan dressed Christine and put her dirty blonde hair into a ponytail. Booth entered the room, dressed in the traditional suit that the FBI required. Christine ran to her father and jumped up in his arms. "Look, Daddy! Look what I'm wearing!"

"That's my girl," Booth responded, eyeing the orange and black mix that covered his daughter's body. He carried her downstairs with Brennan closely behind them.

Breakfast consumed of Booth's famous pancakes, which delighted Christine. She drowned hers in a waterfall of syrup and munched on it happily. Between mouthfuls of food, she quickly explained why she was excited to go to school: Michael Vincent would be with her, she got to clean the class guinea pig's cage today, and she had an easy quiz in math. Booth and Brennan communicated by their eyes as their daughter went on and on.

The family bundled into the SUV and headed to the nearby elementary school. They pulled into the drop off line and Christine jumped out of the car. Brennan rolled down the window.

"Grandpa Max will get you when you get off the bus, okay?" she called. "I love you!"

Christine waved her parents goodbye before disappearing up the stairs that entered into the school. The last thing Brennan could visibly see was her daughter's blue backpack, halfway open from haste.

"Relax, Bones," Booth reassured his partner. "She'll be fine. She always is."

* * *

The couple arrived at the crime scene miles away. Their colleagues and tech team were already present, and had already cataloged everything from the scene that they could get.

"What do we have here?" Booth asked, pulling out his notepad.

Brennan squatted in her Jeffersonian issued uniform. "Male, late twenties."

"Cause of death?"

"Unknown," Cam answered. "The tissue is still here, but it's not ripped or skewed or anything of the sort."

"How long has the victim been dead?" Booth questioned.

"Can't tell," Hodgins answered. "I can't find any fly eggs or maggots around."

Out of the corner of his eye, Booth saw Brennan pick up a scrap of paper near the decomposing body. She read it quickly and cautiously stuffed it in her pocket.

"Meaning what?" Booth impatiently asked. "The body was moved from another location?"

"Possibly," Hodgins said. "Not likely though. This shallow grave at best is only two days old."

"I concur with Hodgins," Cam said. "The body is pretty fresh. There would be no reason to move it."

Booth looked around. "This place is pretty isolated. Hikers came across the body this morning, but this is a restricted area."

"That's usual," Cam said. "People get lost."

Brennan looked up at Booth from her spot on the ground. He saw something in her deep, blue eyes. Thank God their daughter had inherited her eyes. They were distressed and beautiful and chaotic all at once, and Booth was in love with them. But her usual radiance was pale and nonexistent. The color had drained from her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

She shook her head, her eyes still locked on him. "Nothing."

Obviously something was wrong, but Booth didn't bring up the subject again. He called on the nearby squints to transport the body back to the Jeffersonian. Brennan got in Hodgins's car as Booth walked back to his SUV to get to the Bureau. His solitary ride led him to ponder on Brennan's distress from the crime scene. She was probably just scared that Christine forgot something for school or something of the sort. Booth cleared his mind and headed to work.

* * *

The day was consistent as usual. The body was identified, suspects had been drawn up, Sweets had done some required profiling, etc. Booth didn't see Brennan all day, but he called her at lunch to make sure she was okay.

"Hey, is everything alright?"

He could hear a catch in her voice. "I'll tell you later."

"Why not now?"

"Please," she pleaded. "Wait until tonight."

In most times of distress, Booth would've spent the rest of his day by his partner's side. Safety was imperative to him, especially to the ones he loved. He couldn't stop thinking about her, but continued on as usual. Some research revealed where the victim lived, and Booth jumped at the opportunity to travel with Brennan there.

It was late afternoon when Booth picked up his partner from the lab. She looked tired and stressed, and it was only the first day of the case. As they drove off, she silently leaned her head on the window. He grabbed her hand, but before he could ask her anything, his phone went off.

"Booth?" came a worried, familiar voice.

The agent put the call on speaker. "Max?"

"Hey, Booth, did Christine have something after school today? She wasn't on the bus."

Brennan shot a look at Booth. "No?" Booth answered. "Maybe she forgot and went home with Michael."

Brennan shook her head. "Christine wouldn't forget that, Booth."

Booth saw pain in his lover's eyes. "Okay," he told Max. "We'll go to the school now." He ended the call and turned the car around violently. He looked at his partner, who was staring straight ahead, never blinking.

* * *

When they arrived at the school, the couple hustled into the office to find out about their missing daughter. The secretary eyed them, and asked who they were looking for.

"Christine Booth," Brennan immediately answered.

"Oh, Christine? She went home earlier today!"

"What?" Booth demanded.

"She was sick after lunch," she explained. "Never vomited or anything, but she was about to pass out. We called the home and a man answered instantly, explaining that he was her uncle."

Booth turned to Brennan. "Is Russ in town?"

She shook her head. "He's in California with Amy and the girls. What about Jared?"

"He and Padme took a vacation to India." He turned back to the secretary. "What happened?"

"The man said that he would pick up Christine while her parents were at work. He came in, filled out some paperwork, and he took her home."

"What did he look like?!" Booth screamed.

"I don't know; I was doing something else at the time."

"Listen to me," Booth said, pulling out his badge. "Show me the school's security tapes from today."

The woman gawked at the metal that was before her. She led them to the back and pulled up video footage from hours before. Booth and Brennan hastily scanned each screen, wallowing in misery. "There," the worker pointed.

The parents watched in fear as an unknown man walked in, baseball cap covering his face. He grabbed a pen and filled out a packet before him, and disappeared off the screen for a moment. When he returned, he was carrying a sleeping Christine in his arms. Just when Booth was about to give up hope of identifying his daughter's kidnapper, the man looked up and smiled greedily at the camera watching him. The scar was unmistakable.

Pelant had Christine.


	2. Chapter 2

Christopher Pelant was maliciously magnificent. He drove in circles around the metropolitan area for several hours. The girl was in the trunk of the car; whether she was unconscious or not, it didn't matter; he needed to secure the fact that she was out of the protection of her parents.

Never leaving the city, Pelant drove for several long hours before hearing a disturbance from the back. He sighed and pulled over to a deserted area. Scanning the scene to make sure no pedestrians or security cameras could see his actions, he walked out of the old vehicle and moved to the back. He walked to the trunk and slowly selected the key needed for its opening. He lifted it open and smiled.

A cold sweat stuck to Christine's body like tar. Ropes bound her legs and arms, and a makeshift gag wrapped its way around her mouth. When she looked up at Pelant, she howled and screamed as she looked upon his face.

_"Christine," Booth pointed, looking at the picture. "Do you see this man? If you ever see him, you have to tell me." _

_Christine looked up at her father, his face stern and serious. "He's gonna try to hurt you."_

_She nodded, bewildered. "Why does he want to hurt me?"_

_He shook his head. "I don't know. We can't let him take you."_

Pelant laughed at the struggling girl. He struck her _once, twice, three_ times before her body fell limp and he went on his way.

* * *

He drove for a little while longer before coming along his destination on the outskirts of the city. This had not been his first choice, but it was deserted and provided the facility he needed. He drove around back and parked in a solitary area. Pelant carefully lifted Christine out of her position in the back, her body lifeless. He opened the door nearby and walked inside.

Several dull concrete hallways awaited him. He turned left, right, left again into perpendicular hallways. The labyrinth of abandonment sprawled out before him. Scarcely lit lights hanged from the ceiling to lead him. He finally turned a corner and entered an identical room to all the others he passed.

"I've got her," he whispered into the darkness.

Two large men and a gaunt teenager appeared when he turned the lights on. The buff men laughed and howled at the sight of the poor girl dangling from Pelant's arms. The other, a girl, didn't speak, but glared at Pelant. She made no compliment, but no criticism either.

Pelant threw Christine onto the ground. He pulled out a laptop as one of the men grabbed him a mug of coffee. He logged on to his complicated network and began to recall the events from the day.

"I thought N wasn't going to do it," he told anyone who was listening. "I was sure he would've backed out."

"But we have the girl."

He looked down at Christine's body on the concrete. "That wasn't the hard part. The hard part is trying to keep her alive. Reyna, sweetie, how about you take care of her?"

The unobserved teen stood up. Her violent green eyes flickered rage at Pelant. She moved her brown hair behind her shoulder as she picked up Christine, who comfortably fit against her chest.

"That's a good girl," Pelant chortled as the girls went into the adjacent room connected to theirs. He stood up and locked the door. "Don't want to see them until morning."

He returned to his seat at the computer. One of his cronies had fallen asleep; the other, watching him steadily. Pelant carefully hacked into the Jeffersonian's nonaccessible network, as well as the local elementary school's security tapes. He grinned.

"What is it boss?"

"They already found the body. They're getting ahead of us."

"That's bad, right?"

"Not at all," he responded. "At this rate, they'll never see their daughter again."

"Oh."

He turned his screen to his accomplice. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, pointing to a black and white blur.

"Uhhh…no?"

Pelant smiled. "That's the infamous Special Agent Seeley Booth finding out that his daughter has been kidnapped."

* * *

Meanwhile, the girl called Reyna had cleaned Christine. Her bounds were cut loose, but rope burns were apparent on her wrists and ankles. Her gag had been removed and after a long fit of choking and coughing, she was able to breathe again. Reyna soaked a rag in warm water and placed it on Christine's forehead. When she awoke, she was appalled at her savior.

"Why…why are you helping me?" the young girl breathlessly asked.

"Shhh…just sleep. I'll tell you later."

"You work for him. You work for the bad guy."

"No, sweetie. I'm gonna help you okay?"

Christine nodded in Reyna's arms. "Don't tell him."

"Don't tell him what?"

She shook her head. "Don't tell him that you're gonna help me."

"Oh. Yes, please don't tell him."

Christine fell asleep in her embrace on a makeshift bed consisting of towels as blankets and a threadbare mattress as comfort. Reyna released Christine to the bed, and stood up. Her hollow, pale face was one who had not seen sunlight for weeks, and her gawky body represented malnourishment. But she didn't complain, and continued her long, tedious hours of work.

She pulled up her own computer and hacked onto the FBI's database, a trick she had learned from her mentor. She pulled up a file on a renowned psychologist, and read about him until Pelant slammed on her door with a list of her duties for the day.

* * *

**_For those of you who are wondering, I don't plan on updating this very often. My sincerest apologies. _**


	3. Chapter 3

Pain, agony, and fear filled Booth's veins as he tried to comprehend his situation. His daughter, his life and his pride, had been snatched from him much like the Spurs had been snatched of a NBA championship trophy the week before.

_"San Antonio is gonna win," he said. "They're gonna do it."_

_"Nu huh," Christine remarked. "19 seconds is plenty of time for the Heat to come back."_

And, as usual, she had been right. But now his treasure had been stolen once again by the scar faced pirate who dared cross his path. Shit. Shit. Shit. Pelant had his girl.

It wasn't about the kidnapping. If it had been anyone else, Booth would've stormed through whatever barriers necessary to get to his daughter. But Pelant always had a plan, and now if Booth didn't follow it, Christine would be killed without any hesitation. She was just another pawn in his chess game, while Booth and Brennan were the king and queen. And sometimes, you have to sacrifice a piece to come out with a victory.

The next few hours were busy, tearless, and troublesome. A grief stricken Brennan could hardly breathe after finding out the whereabouts of her missing child. Booth immediately tackled the situation, his mind preparing for the worst. He flashed his badge for access of every security tape of the day before. He got lists of every employee working in the school. There was no time for depression, only time for action.

They rode back to the Jeffersonian with their information in silence. Booth began to hear the choked sobs of his partner, but there was no way to heal her. Pelant was an infectious disease with no cure that had yet to be found. Nothing he could say would reassure her, and she wasn't fool enough to pretend otherwise. Instead, he quietly took her hand, which didn't pull away.

They arrived at the lab, where the squint squad was working on their case. The couple walked in, and the others could automatically observe that something was wrong. Hodgins and Cam briskly walked to the pair. "He has her," Booth bluntly stated.

There was no identification of who 'he' or 'her' was, and there was no need to. Cam gasped and Hodgins put his hands to his face, shielding the others of his emotions.

"Oh God." It didn't matter who said it; they were all thinking the same thing. He had her, and there was a possibility that she could not be saved. Angela came out of her office to see her paralyzed colleagues stricken with shame. She didn't need to guess what had happened. The only fear that could make them all cringe was the universal obstacle to them all: Pelant.

She took one glance at Brennan's red, puffy eyes and immediately saw the consequences. She looked at Booth. "How?"

He blatantly shrugged and handed her the school's tapes. "Pelant planned this. She didn't get sick accidently. See if there's anything that triggered her illness. Cafeteria food, materials in the classroom, whatever. Get on it."

She took the tapes and rushed off to find whatever triggered Pelant's scheme. The rest stood, not knowing whether to fall over and cry or continue like nothing had happened.

* * *

The girl called Reyna was exhausted. Her baggy eyes lacked the light that the computer screen had taken from her. Her fingers shook with the unconsciousness of hours of typing. Christine was asleep; she had woken a few hours earlier to eat. Her cries of mental and physical pain made Reyna shutter. Christine maturely wailed her for rescue; an oxymoron, but her muffled sobs motivated Reyna to keep working. Pelant didn't know it, but she had a plan of her own.

Reyna finished her break in of the CIA top secret database and printed off a copy for her master. She illegally downloaded military software that wasn't supposed to be released for another year. She tweaked the software using her own homemade programs, and sent the file to an unrecognized victim who was about to get in a lot of trouble. She looked on Pelant's to do list to see what else she needed to finish before she could do her own work. Apparently being one of the most wanted serial killers in the country was too occupying, so Reyna did some of his more structured assignments.

Lunchtime. A mere thirty minute break from the stress of the computer. A flap opened in the wall next to her. She pulled out a water bottle and half of a turkey sandwich. Pelant was learning some new recipes. Good for him.

She didn't eat but saved the food for the unconscious girl lying on her bed. Instead, Reyna took her free time to fix incorrect pages of Wikipedia, for she had nothing else better to do.

* * *

While Christine's savior was correcting the mythical facts about the Maori tribe, the group had found some dazzling but disturbing information. In the time it took to find out how Christine had been taken, Sweets had arrived at the lab, but no one had dared alert the FBI of the kidnapping; if federal got on this case, Pelant would slash Christine's throat.

Angela, Booth, and Brennan scanned the videos while Cam, Hodgins, and Sweets pulled up old information regarding former cases involving Pelant. They were watching Christine have lunch with Michael Vincent and their friends.

"This isn't fair," Angela mumbled. "He could've taken Michael, or any of those other kids instead, but he chose Christine."

"We're the targets," Booth said. "The only reason Pelant ever wanted to hurt you was because you were affiliated with us."

"You can't blame yourself, Booth…"

"Don't you dare tell me what I can blame myself for!" he screamed. "We've been hunting down this son of a bitch for almost seven years! He has kidnapped my child, my daughter, whom I'm supposed to protect at all costs. Don't tell me not to blame myself, Angela. He is after us, and my innocent little girl has to pay the price for it."

Angela glanced at Brennan, who remained silent. It seemed that her tongue had been cut out ever since the discovery of Christine's fate.

Booth watched the videos. "Wait, replay that," he said. Angela pushed a button on her remote and replayed the scene.

As the group rose from the table to throw their trash away, a custodian came by. His face was discernible, but his figure was a blur. He stopped at Christine's seat. Carefully, almost too carefully, he put a powder into Christine's water in which she had not yet finished. The solvable solution mixed with the liquid, leaving it undetectable. The children returned, laughing without a care. Christine took a sip from her drink.

Later, as the tapes would show, she almost passed out from the dizziness, inability to walk, and nausea the poison provided.


	4. Chapter 4

It didn't take long to identify the assailant. With some quick cross referencing technology, Angela played the part of robot as Booth watched. She pressed countless buttons and navigated through hundreds of different channels and labyrinths of archives.

"There he is," Booth pointed.

Male. 24. Born in Fairfax, Virginia. Mother from Mexico. Father from Italy. Charged with obstruction of justice the year before. Had a scar above his left eye, which had its own story to tell. A bird was tattooed on his arm, possibly a phoenix, or better yet, a dove. Name? Nat Wilkinson.

"I'm on it," Booth said, walking out the door.

* * *

He went over to her office, where he found her sitting on her couch, not making a sound. The couch used to be a place of solitude for her, on those nights she was too afraid to go home. Too afraid to see that maybe she wasn't as great as everyone thought she was. Because, after all, who is successful if they are always alone?

He sat next to her. They didn't speak, they hardly touched. She rested her head on his shoulder, her main refuge of safety since as long as she could remember. Her protector, but what if she didn't need protecting?

He turned and faced her. He was finally facing his punishment, seeing her break. She couldn't throw her walls up, no, it was already too late. She thought too much and didn't say enough and it would kill her and he would have to watch.

_I try to love and then they leave so I shut it off but he comes and tries to break the barrier and I won't let him but he keeps on trying so maybe, maybe he's different and so I'll love him but wait he loves her and I'm alone again it's not worth it, it's never worth it, wait she's gone, does he want another chance, I'll stay, I'll stay, I'm tired of this grief, don't make me go, I love him and now I'm allowed to, I love her and I will love her forever, I had to leave him, he broke my heart, everything is perfect, and now she's gone. _

And he saw that and it crushed him almost as much as it did her. He brushed her hand against her cheek and he kissed her forehead. No promises, not yet.

"Do you want to come with me?" he asked her.

She nodded and stood up. She took his hand and they walked out of the lab.

* * *

Pelant was working on something. It was more than a plan, more like a Macedonian scheme to conquer the world. But Pelant didn't want the world. He wanted Seeley Booth.

The more he thought about it, he concluded that Booth was the reason for his profound obsession with pain. Before Booth, he never really hurt anyone on the team. He played with them, yes, but never physically hurt them. He played with Brennan, held her strings like a puppeteer and watched her fall. But he never hurt her.

However, she surprised him, and that was something that did not happen to Christopher Pelant. She ran from the life that she had created. She left the only person who had ever given her a chance for the thing she wanted most. And she crushed his heart.

But even more surprising, he had forgiven her. He had accepted her flight, and blamed someone else. His wrath was unmerciful, and his need for revenge was frightening. Pelant was immortal. Booth was right; he did not miss when it came to shooting. The bullet caused splatters of blood to penetrate the windshield and a scream to erupt from the victim. Now, Booth had hit a nerve.

No amount of revenge would satisfy Pelant. Calling off an engagement just irritated Booth; it just wasn't enough. But now, Pelant had a wonderful, terrible, perfect mission. It included trust in others, which most serial killers are not very good at, especially psychopaths who targeted the FBI. Pelant, however, was charming. His presence delighted others, even though behind that scar sat a mind more dangerous than the world had ever known.

It had taken years to plan it. In the end, it was quite simple, but nothing could go wrong. Months were spend dedicated for practicing and planning escape routes.

If it worked, half of D.C. would be overtaken by flames and Seeley Booth would be dead.

* * *

Never run away from special agents, because you will not win. Nat Wilkinson was brought in with handcuffs that bound his wrists. (Let me tell you a story: Booth told other agents that Wilkinson had been caught doing an illegal drug deal [untrue] so that he could be brought in for questioning. The real reason Booth lied [for as I said earlier, the federals could not know about Pelant] was that he was too afraid that if he tracked down that unfortunate soul, he would kill him before he got any information out of him, therefore gaining no knowledge about Christine.)

Brennan was behind the glass, watching intently. She 'mistakenly' shut off all the video receptors that sent the recording to the FBI database (but she would still have a copy of the tape). She didn't want to watch, but she didn't want to do anything else, either. Damn, depression was confusing.

Booth walked in, his standard suit making the room look even duller. He sat down and looked his brown eyes into Nat's black ones.

"I already told the others, I didn't do a damn thing!" he exclaimed. "Ask my parole officer; I've been good."

"This isn't about drugs."

"Then why am I getting a rash on my hand from these damn handcuffs?"

"Nat, what do you do for a living?"

"My parole officer has all my information, just ask her…"

Booth gave him a look that would frighten Lucifer himself.

"I work at the local community college. I help fix computers."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir."

Booth pulled out a picture of Wilkinson at the elementary school cafeteria . "So, no applications to custodial service lately?"

Nat's eyes grew wide. "That bastard," he whispered under his breath. "He said that he would erase it…"

"What?" Booth demanded.

"I have no idea who that is," Nat said. "You don't know that's me! It's a blur, for Christ's sake! You can't charge me with anything?"

"We have the best technology in the country," Booth said. "It's confirmed; this is you."

Nat took the picture. "Okay, so if it was me, which it's not, what did I do?"

"You poisoned a first grader."

He shrugged. "Whoever put that stuff in; it could've been sugar or something."

"She almost passed out as soon as she took it."

"Bad reaction; maybe she was allergic."

"Don't mess with me," Booth said.

"I don't have to say anything without a lawyer present," he countered.

"You don't want to do this."

He smirked. "I think I do."

Booth pulled out his wallet. He flipped through his driver's license, some hockey pictures of Parker, there it was.

"Have you ever seen this girl?"

Her blue eyes were shimmering in delight. Her brownish hair looked gold in the sun. She was laughing; he had long forgotten the joke. Christine was his girl, and no one could take her away from him and get away with it.

"No."

Booth stood up in rage and ran across the table. He picked Wilkinson up from the collar and shook him violently. He smashed him against the wall until he began to bleed. The moans of Nat were unheard: "I'm…going…to…get…you…for…this…"

That made Booth worse. He screamed at him. "That's my daughter! You don't know her, that's bullshit, bullshit! You're the reason she's gone, she's missing…"

The yells continued until Booth's knuckles were stained in blood. He threw Nat to the floor, crumbled like a sheet of paper. Tears burned Booth's cheeks. He bent down. "Now tell me the truth," he said, his voice shaking.

And Nat did. And Brennan watched.

* * *

Christine loved Reyna. She was like a sister, but better. Sisters pulled each other's hair and fought. Reyna told Christine stories.

When you're doing extensive research for a sought out criminal, you learn a few things. More than a few things, actually. You're not just learning about the victim; you become the victim. Booth and Brennan's history was so magnificent, and Reyna had to memorize every bit of it.

So she spent her time telling Christine stories about her parents, which would usually result in many questions. "How did he find her?" "They kissed? Ew!" "Why did she run away?"

Now, Christine was sleeping again. Reyna didn't know how long she had been missing. Maybe a day, maybe a week. Time was not imperative when it came to her life.

She logged on her computer. "Oh my God."

She tried to retrieve the video, but she had to do it from the camera itself. "Damn."

"What?" Christine mumbled, rolling out of bed.

"Your mom's too smart."

She laughed. "I know."

Getting the video was harder than Reyna expected. It wasn't in the database, thanks to Dr. Brennan. But in the end, she managed to catch a snippet from the tape.

She picked the girl up and sat her on her lap to view the screen. "Shhh…Christine. Look, it's your dad."

They watched Booth's reign of terror and then his wave of emotion. "He misses you," Reyna said.

Christine didn't take her eyes of the computer. "He beat him up for me?"

"Yeah, he wants to find you. He loves you, Christine."

She was awestruck by her father's actions. "My daddy is a superhero."


	5. Chapter 5

It was time to go home. It was something that they didn't want to do, but had to be done. Home meant walking by her empty room. Home meant silence, or worse, confronting the issue at last. However, it had been two days since they had left their dwelling on that fateful morning, and they needed rest.

He called the Thai restaurant on their way to the house. They couldn't cook, not now, not when they would have to look across the table to the empty space that would just mock them until they broke. So they arrived to their mighty hut carrying boxes of Asian delicacies and bucket loads of grief.

The darkness of the home seemed to call to them. The shadows crawled out and whispered ever so softly, trying to hypnotize them into deliriousness that would not be awakened. It hurt, and nothing had hurt as much. This was the house of hurt. This was where Booth retreated after Brennan realized that she would not survive if she did not run. This was where Brennan felt the true ache of having your heart broken by someone who you thought could never do such a thing.

They sat on the couch and munched quietly. The flickering lights danced on the walls, asking them to join. But they could not, for they were not able. Someone needed to talk, someone had to reassure and give the postponed promises that may not be true. And that someone was Booth.

"Bones, we're gonna find her."

She had barely talked in the past hours. She couldn't put up her walls, but she could cut herself off. She knew that no matter what Booth would get in, but there was nothing she wanted to say. He would just get it out of her.

She sighed. "You don't know that, Booth."

He scooted closer to her. He pitied her, he felt her pain, but he didn't always understand her the way she wanted him to. His connotations with emotions were different than hers, and they reacted differently.

"I do. We're gonna get her back, Bones. You just gotta have a little faith, that's all."

"Don't bring up faith. Don't…not now."

"Hey, hey. Remember what I told you right before she was born?"

"How there's a mystery to life?"

"No, before that." He got closer, closer. She inhaled his scent, which comforted her. If anyone was feeling was she was, it would be him. It was always him. He took her hand.

"I love you. And if anything happens to this child, I would die."

"I can't lose both of you, Booth."

"I know. That's how I know we're going to find her."

"It's not rational; she could already be dead…"

He cut her off. "She's not dead. Trust me, Bones. Trust me. Please."

She could her the pleading in his voice. _Don't doubt me_. She could never give up on him.

"And hey, knowing her, she probably already escaped or something. She does have your brains, you know."

Brennan managed to suppress a smile. "She's got your strength."

"She's the best of both of us. And we're gonna get her back."

There was a pause. Now the wave come crashing in. "I miss her, Booth."

"I know."

Pause.

Sobbing.

"C'mere," he said, rising up. His hand pulled hers as she struggled to get up. He embraced her as she let all hell go loose. Her weeping echoes bounced off the walls. She dug her body closer to his. _I can't lose both of you._

His arms grew tighter around her lower shoulders and back. Her arms were around his neck, pulling his head closer to hers, which was burrowed in his tee shirt.

"I can't lose her, Booth. I can't…I won't…"

He stroked her hair and kissed her head. "I know, baby. I'm right here. You're okay. She's gonna be okay. I promise. I'm right here. I got you, Temperance."

Tears began to fall from his eyes as well. As much as they loved their time alone, they missed their girl.

* * *

They went upstairs, halfway blind by blurs. They escaped into bed, much like the night Vincent died. One head against the other's chest. Crying, unable to calm down. Promises and reassurances that may not be fulfilled. But if anyone walked in at that given moment, they would know that this couple loved each other. They couldn't survive without each other. They couldn't survive with the thing that had finally brought them together.

But what Brennan neglected to remember was the piece of paper she found at the crime scene the day before.

* * *

_**Sorry for the shorter chapter! Enjoy!**_


	6. Chapter 6

Pelant was beyond exhausted. He had spent the majority of his life stalking and planning, creating and destroying. He was tired. Sleepless nights were due to a new contraption, or even better, a new scheme. He loved his work. He loved seeing his work fulfilled to do its rightful cause, and the successful result it brought. Sweets had realized this; Pelant needed more and more daring trials in order to have his goals reached that would bring a satisfying feeling.

He had no regrets. What's the worst that could happen? He dies. He wasn't fearful of death; he had accepted it a long time ago. He would die soon. But he had to be prepared for when the time came. He had found an apprentice, who not so much enjoyed his craft, but could at least pass it on if necessary. Pelant was obsessed with living a legacy; it didn't matter if his heart stopped beating, he would still be alive in the minds of those who he oppressed.

The girl, Reyna, was simultaneously his biggest asset and largest flaw. She know almost as much as he did (under his wonderful teachings, of course), but she had already tried to escape once and Pelant was fearful if she did it again. She held all of his secrets, and if they were exposed, Pelant would not only be gone, but erased. However, he trusted her. After the first time, his wrath was so unmerciful she lay in a coma for days. She was scared of him, and she had every right to. No more double crossing from her.

His guards were stupid blunders of society. They had no idea what his real plan was, only that it was against the FBI, which they greedily accepted without hesitation. They were there just in case something went wrong. They would die preserving his cause while he could have a chance to escape.

Every day that the daughter was held in his captivity, he felt the need to adjust his plan to bring the most pain. True, he had already left a message for Dr. Brennan at the crime scene. (A quick note, Pelant **did not** kill the body they found several days before. He just happened to arrive at the scene before them.) Christine was under imperative care to fit Pelant's needs. She didn't do much, but he had to do something soon in order to send a message. But that was one of the only pieces of the puzzle that was missing. Should he just kill her now, and laugh at the team still trying to fight for a lost cause? Should he torture her and send a recording of it to her hysterical parents? He didn't know. So he dedicated the next few days to watching her, observing her. He had learned a few psychological tricks recently ad he wanted to know Christine better than her parents. He had no doubt that Booth already tried to protect her by warning her about Pelant, but he could easily change that theory. Gain her trust, and then stab her in the back when the time came. He was procrastinating, which was unlike him, but at least he had an idea. He always did.

Regardless to with connection with Booth, he wanted to target Brennan his time. He knew that she would have to develop a new coping method, and she didn't have enough time to use it successfully. He had long given up of separating this couple, but he had no problem straining their relationship. He had their daughter. He could do whatever he wanted now. But watching Brennan in their home sparked something. She cracked, as he knew she would, but she never pulled away into her own sanctuary after Booth comforted her. She never let go. Pelant admired Brennan, which was one of the main reasons why his plans worked so smoothly. His hatred for the FBI was Booth's side of the cause, and his admiration for a genius so much like him was the other. Watching her work so valiantly, without error time and time again. She wasn't perfect, but she was so close he could taste it. Brennan kept Pelant going, the motivation to create more tricks that she may not be able to solve. He wanted her, not her body, but her mind, for who knows what wonderful things he would be able to do with it.

* * *

Brennan looked at the bones. It was such a simple sentence, but the information was so complex. The skeleton's harmonious structure always fascinated her, the connectivity of tendons and joints and muscles and bones was a piece of art. They had no evidence connecting Christine to Pelant besides Nat's failed interview, and Brennan believed the proof was in the bones.

"I wouldn't worry about looking at those bones, Doctor Brennan."

Sweets walked in, obviously troubled by their new case. He was close to Christine, much more than a typical family friend would be. He was the one (after Max) who watched her whenever her parents were busy or privately spending time together. He had spent countless hours dressing up and creating macaroni art and watching weird documentaries that Brennan recommended. She was his daughter as much as theirs, and her absence affected him much more personally than professionally.

She stared at him blankly. _Don't take away my only escape._ "Why not?"

"Pelant didn't kill this person. It doesn't fit his pattern. It's not violent enough. This wasn't a crime of passion or remorse. At best it was simply an accident."

"How can you explain all the missing evidence around the crime scene? There were barely any samples for Hodgins to collect."

He shrugged. "It's possible that Pelant came to the scene and removed evidence, but that would've been the only link to this murder."

She sighed and turned back to her bones. "Wait…if Pelant was at the crime scene, then…"

Her face was as pale as a ghost, if not whiter. "Oh my God."

"Wait…wait what?"

But it was too late, she had already ripped off her gloves and ran out of the room.

* * *

"Booth!"

"Bones, is everything all right?"

"It that even a valid question anymore?"

"Okay, okay, what's wrong?"

"You need to come over here right now."

"I'm already in the car, Bones, don't think I'm not going to be there for you."

"Booth, that paper I found at the crime scene…"

She could hear the gasp through the phone. "Is that connected to Pelant?"

She nodded, then remembered that he couldn't see her. "I think so."

"Okay."

She continued. "At first, I thought it was left by our victim, but if Pelant was at the crime scene before us..."

"I'm coming," he said before hanging up, but Brennan heard the beginning of the sirens that he turned on to come quicker than allowed.

* * *

_You think you're so smart_

_As I'm trying to hide_

_But know if you cross the line_

_Your beloved will die_

They sat in her office analyzing their data. Booth stared at the paper on the table. This was either disastrous news, or really good if they could track down where it had been previously.

"What's the line?" Brennan asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know." He had guesses, of course, but you never really knew anymore.

"I'm going to give this to Hodgins," she said, standing up. "Maybe he will be able to tell where this has been using mass spec or something…"

She started to walk out of the room as Booth sulked on the couch. "Wait, Bones," he said as he turned around. She stopped and looked back. "I love you," he said. "And if you never knew that before, you need to know it now."

She nodded slightly and continued her way out the door without saying a word. Soon, Booth heard the rapid footsteps retreating and turned to see her face across from his. She kissed him lightly but powerfully, shortly but passionately. And that was all he needed.


	7. Chapter 7

Hodgins recovered nothing from Pelant's poem. Booth texted Sweets a picture, who immediately arrived at the Jeffersonian with conclusions.

They walked around the gardens, listening to the rush of the fountain nearby. The sky was cloudless and the light blue shone throughout the cityscape surrounding them. It was a beautiful day.

"You have to stop investigating," he said.

"What are we supposed to do, then?" Booth demanded. "Wait until Pelant just decides to give Christine back?"

"Of course not," Sweets replied. "I've been going over his profile, looking for anything I may have overlooked. Pelant is not a man of stealing. He's a man of bartering."

"What? He stole our daughter, he's stolen my life before."

"No; he merely took it for his own usage. When you shot Pelant several years ago, you not only left a scar on his face, but a stain on the inside. You crossed the line that resulted in him becoming more ruthless than ever before. You make a mark on his universal cosmic balance sheet, so to speak, and he was simply returning the favor."

"Wait, wait," Booth said slowly. "So if I cross that line again…"

"Christine will die. No hesitation. No guilt from Pelant."

"So he wants a trade. What does he want?"

"He wants a lot of things. Justice. Security. Power. And Doctor Brennan."

"What?"

"Notice how he teases her. This is more of a game to him than you realize. He only drew you into this because of your relationship with the FBI and with Brennan. You were a perfect target. You were his key to get to her."

"Why does he want her?"

"Same reason you do."

Booth looked at him quizzically.

"She fascinates you," Sweets said softly. "She enchants anyone who is fortunate enough to fall under her spell. Pelant wants to get closer to her in order to know why she is the way she is."

"He should know that already. He's had access to every file about her that ever existed."

"That's why he wants her. Because even with all of the information he can retrieve with his knowledge, he can't figure her out. She's the one riddle that she can't solve."

"He's proposing I trade Brennan for Christine."

"Exactly. He knows that this will put you in a emotionally unhappy position, and he also has realized that Brennan will do anything for Christine. She immediately will surrender herself to save her daughter. But what Pelant will do to her in return...I can't say."

"And Pelant will keep his promise of letting Christine go untouched?"

"Of course. He is a devious psychopath, but he follows his own protocol. But if you or Brennan try to be smarter than him and try to think of a way to beat him, Christine will die immediately. That's what he meant by crossing the line."

There was a pause. "What am I supposed to do?" Booth cried.

Sweets put a hand on his shoulder. "We can beat this. You know you can."

"But if Christine dies…"

"You'll find a way. You always do."

Booth looked up and attempted to smile at the squint but before he should shift his eyes to a happier tone, there was a scream from inside the lab.

* * *

_**Sorry for the short chapter, but some of you wanted an update. Will add more soon.**_


	8. Chapter 8

Pelant walked into the girls' room quietly. Reyna was working, as usual, and Christine was laying on the bed while drawing with some makeshift crayons.

He crept up behind the older one, put his hands on his shoulder, and whispered in her ear. "I'm going to need Christine for a little bit."

Reyna jumped out of her chair and spun around? "Why?"

"Nothing, I just need to borrow her for a few minutes."

"Okay, let's go." She pulled Christine off the bed, who tentatively held her hand. However, before they could walk out the door, Pelant stopped them.

"Just Christine. I need you to work."

"You told me not to lose sight of her," Reyna sneered. "I'm supposed to know where she is at all times."

Pelant laughed, but without emotion. "My dear literal Reyna…" he began to smirk. "Get back to work."

She refused, for she didn't have any idea what Pelant would do to Christine if she wasn't there to protect her. She took a step forward, but Pelant struck her hard, causing her to crash backward unconscious onto the floor. A pool a blood began to emerge from under her head. Her eyes were closed, and she was barely breathing.

Pelant looked down on her. "Get back to work."

* * *

"Now we can have some fun," Pelant said, taking Christine's arm and leading her down the lair. The wove through mazes of corridors until he found the one he was looking for. He bent down and pulled a bandana from his back pocket.

"We don't want anyone spoiling the surprise now, do we?" he taunted as he tied it around the child's mouth. She began to struggle, but she wasn't hard to secure. Then, he took some rope from inside his jacket. He bound her arms, but her legs stay free. They couldn't get her very far.

They went inside, where a chair was sitting in front of a computer and a camera. The room was pitch black except for the lone light bulb that hung above the seat.

Pelant messed with both of the devices, instinctively clicking the keys like he was born knowing how to do it. Then, he sat down and put Christine on his lap. Dried tears stained her face, but she couldn't squirm without feeling a pain from her side, where Pelant prodded a knife.

She distracted herself by watching the computer screen, which fizzled and buzzed like it was about to give out. But instead, the monitor picked up a signal, and a shape began to appear. Christine knew it well. The figure finally cleared and became unmistakable to see.

Pelant put on his best charm smile. "Hello, Angela."

* * *

Booth and Sweets sprinted as fast as they could from the gardens outside. When Booth forgot that the Jeffersonian doors were "pull" instead of "push", he almost pulled his gun out to break the class. There was a commotion in the lab, but there was no one nearby to see where it was coming from. There was no one on the platform, and Brennan's office, nothing.

They went to Angela's office, where they could slightly see a light coming from her projector screen. The room was filled with everyone: Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and Brennan. Booth made his way to the front to see what was going on. Sweets stayed back.

What Booth saw, what they all saw, no one wanted to see. Pelant was staring at them, flesh and bone, with Christine on his lap. At the sight of her father, her eyes grew wide and tried to scream. They could tell that she immediately regret her decision, but they didn't see the knife that Pelant stuck in her side.

"Hello, Agent Booth," Pelant welcomed. "Good you have you have you here, finally. You've missed some pretty important information. I see that you knew to come after hearing Angela's welcoming chorus?"

Booth stared back at him. He couldn't win. Not now. He could feel Brennan next to him, trying to keep her breathing rate out of control. He wanted to look at her, to reassure her, but his eyes couldn't leave his daughter.

Her hair was a mess. The usual straight blonde-brunette mix had turned into a mess of uncontrollable proportions. The circles under eyes were very stressing, and the tears that she tried to hold back broke his heart.

"Your partner and I have been talking about the evidence she found at the crime scene," he said. "The person whom I didn't kill, by the way. I wouldn't waste my precious time with someone with that status. I did however, have a very helpful tip from a friend that he found a body nearby. Was happy to write a riddle for me.

"I know you know it means, Agent Booth. And I don't like to be kept waiting. You have three days to make your decision, or else, well…" he laughed. "You know the deal."

Booth glared at him. "I'm going to find you and I'm going to kill you."

"But you've already tried. And even if you did track me down, you couldn't kill me without losing your daughter. I suppose some people are good at making sacrifices, however," he said brushing her cheek.

"Your choice, Booth. I'll contact you in the future."

"Wait...you should at least let Christine talk. See if she has anything to say."

Pelant shook her head. "See? She doesn't want to talk to her parents that give her up for a deadly killer while fueling the corruption of our society. She's better off with me."

"Fine. One more thing, then. How do I know that you'll keep your deal?"

Pelant glanced at Brennan and licked his lips. "I value this plan too much to let it go wrong."

Booth finally turned away from the screen to look at his partner, who was shaking with fury.

"Why do you do this?" she screamed. "How can you enjoy this?"

Pelant smiled like it was Christmas. "How can I not? Putting enemies through pain has been the number one stress reliever all throughout history. This is just my coping method. Now, we have work to do."

He winked and the screen went black, imprinting a horrible image in everyone who was standing in the room. They didn't know what Pelant had in store now that the camera was off.

* * *

**_I'll probably add two more chapters by Monday. Feel free to comment any future ideas. _**


	9. Chapter 9

Booth and Brennan sat across each other, sharing a drink at the Founding Fathers. It was like old times, when they were just partners, except they were never just partners. Rather, them sitting by each other, trying to laugh, was more like the other moments they had shared with each other. The ones that had built their trust, that had wove their relationship. The clink of the glass. The silence that wasn't as demanding as it was peaceful. The look one gave when the other wasn't looking. Before, there was nothing they could do about it. Now, however, they got to go home together and make the most out of it. If it meant making love, if it meant just sleeping by each other, it didn't matter. Before, it was going home alone. Turning on the lights to the home that did not welcome you as much as the person you didn't know you loved did.

Booth stared into the eyes of his fallen soldier, his precious partner, his fate. She was his and he was hers and nothing else mattered. Nothing else had ever mattered. He loved her and she had accepted it and she had responded. And he promised that he would love her for the rest of his life. Every night was the same.

She'd be awake, woken by a nightmare, and he would already be up, watching her, making sure she was safe. "Booth?"

"Mmmm?"

"Do you love me?"

"Yeah. Do you need me to prove it to you?"

She would always shake her head. "No."

"Then why did you ask?"

"'Cause I just wanted to make sure that you didn't change your mind."

After all, how could someone love you when you didn't love yourself?

Her haughtiness often gave off an aurora she was blind to see. She had self-confidence, but she had never experienced love, or even worse, being loved. Her parents, yes, of course, but the majority of the planet experienced paternal unconditional love. Even with the love she had gone through, she threw it away when she knew that her childhood was over. Booth, Booth, Booth had gave her something to cling on to. She could love him. Everyone she had ever tried to love had left her. She believed that she was unlikable and cold. How could someone love her like Booth did?

And he reminded her. "I love you, Bones." Every night. Every day. Whenever he had the chance, he would say it. He didn't need to prove it; she was a scientist, she can make her own conclusions. But he would tell her and her eyes would light up because finally, finally, something had gone right.

Now as they sat, they almost forgot about their daughter, and continued to lose one in the other, eyes meeting, hands touching, utensils clinking. The silence was not superior, but echoing the thoughts which they felt.

"Booth?"

He looked up.

She tilted her head, like she always did when she was thinking. "Do you know what Pelant was talking about, when he said you had three days to make your decision?"

He looked down. This is what Pelant wanted. To kill Booth's state of mind, which was at the moment the only sane thing that he had left. Lie to Brennan, or tell her, which will result in giving her up? Brennan, she knew, ever since the broken engagement, that when Booth lied to her, he had a reason. One hundred percent of the time, it was for her or Christine's safety.

"No. Sweets looked at the poem, but he didn't think it looked like a serious threat?"

"Not a serious threat? It said that he would kill Christine!"

"Which he could've done already," Booth pointed out. "But he hasn't. There's a reason he's keeping her alive."

Brennan was smart. Booth was afraid that she would see the truth before he had the chance to make a plan.

But for now, she believed him. She actually smiled.

"What?" he smirked.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I hate this. I hate this," she laughed. "That monster has our daughter. But I am thankful…"

Booth suddenly took interest. Thankful for what? What could she happy about in this mess?

She looked into him, her clear eyes on his deep ones. "I am thankful that I don't have to go through this alone. I'm glad I have you, Booth."

* * *

That night was unlike any other. They had come home, undressed, redressed into comfortable clothing that would suit their needs. He saw her through the bathroom mirror as she was brushing her teeth. What if this was the last time he would fall asleep with her next to him? What if this was the last night that they could still be a family? Booth was not one for taking advantages of a situation, but he needed something. He needed to know that it would be alright, just as much as anyone else.

She came out, her long hair falling beautifully over her shoulders. She caught him staring at her in a way she would never grow tired of. She grew closer, and cupped her hand around his cheek. Her sweet smell surrounded him, like a drug that was too good to resist. Her eyes bore into his, and in that moment they knew.

He took her against the wall and kissed her passionately. She immediately responded, trying to find something to hold on to for support. The heat between their lips never ceased, but grew like a raging fire that was just beginning to ignite. He kissed her, her lips, her neck, her collarbone. This will not be the last time, he promised himself.

She fought back and they fell on the bed, trying to regain the control that they had lost. Fighting for a position, he was on top of her, their lips still locked. She pulled off his shirt, clawing her way to freedom.

They took a breath, and she once again took advantage of the silence.

"Booth."

He looked different, his eyes more savage than calm.

"Just promise that we'll be alright."


End file.
